


Puzzles in the Fade

by DeCarabas



Series: Fugitives Together [16]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 2, Dragon Age Quest: Night Terrors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/pseuds/DeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Night Terrors, when Justice first arrives in the Fade, he says how good it is to be back. Then he says he doesn't want to stay. Why is that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puzzles in the Fade

The song of the Fade washed over him, and the shift from Anders to Justice was easy, automatic. That was unexpected. When the Dalish ritual began, he’d braced himself for the jarring rush of outrage that he’d grown uncomfortably familiar with, blind fury and vengeance bursting forth. It was bad enough letting that side of himself take over in the physical world, but to enter the Fade—

But there was none of that blind fury now. Instead he found a clarity to his thoughts that he—that _Justice_ hadn’t felt since they joined. It wasn’t quite the same as it had been back then, but it was close: there was an injustice here to be stopped, a child to be saved, demons to be destroyed. If only all the physical world's problems could be so straightforward. And although he knew there was no time to waste, he allowed himself a moment to enjoy that sense of clarity, to breathe in the beauty of the music of the Fade.

It wasn’t something he heard with his ears, precisely. Not just a melody but a rhythm in his blood, a thrumming against his skin, the silver tang like lyrium on his tongue, all combining to make the world somehow more vivid than before, as if a filter over his eyes had been stripped away— _as it should be,_ he thought, though a part of him felt disturbed at the thought.

He told himself he wouldn't stay here even if he could, not when there was so much still to be done in the physical world. But the deeply-ingrained familiarity of this song was a thread echoing through Justice’s memories, welcoming him home; and at the same time, he felt as though he was hearing the full wonder of it for the first time, and that was also true. As Anders, he'd heard a few hints of this since their merging, the hum of his magic tugging at the edges of the Veil—but never like this, never as if all the world had come alive and started to speak, right down to the stones.

He wished Hawke could hear it too.

Merrill and Aveline had already started moving ahead, but Hawke was still standing by his side, taking in their new surroundings. It was an odd feeling, seeing the Fade through the filter of Feynriel’s dreaming mind; this Dalish ritual wasn’t quite like anything he’d experienced before, as either Justice or Anders. And it wasn’t exactly the area of the Fade he would have liked to show Hawke, were he to choose—a reflection of the Gallows as constructed by Feynriel’s mind, reeking of tension and fear—but then, they weren’t here for pleasure. From the brittle feel of this place, the sickening sense of demons drawing in, the boy couldn't have long.

Still, he loved the look of curiosity on Hawke’s face. So many mages saw the Fade only with fear. It was a place of demons and deceit, yes, but there was much to love about it too, he thought as he looked up at the softly glowing blue lights hanging high above their heads. So much that he’d missed, even in a place such as this.

Hawke would be concerned about him, appearing in this form when there was no immediate threat at hand. He should say something, reassure him.

“I had not thought to return in such a way,” he said. He startled slightly at the sound of his own voice, familiar yet strange. Well, this was how he had always sounded in the Fade; why shouldn’t he use this voice now? Why shouldn’t he even change his form back to a shape that suited a warrior—no. He found himself shying away from the thought, and shook it off. “It is good to feel the breath of the Fade again, not the empty air of your world.”

Hawke looked him over without saying anything for a long moment, head to toe and back again. And he found himself increasingly discomforted as he tried to decipher what Hawke might be thinking. Those doubts he'd felt in the physical world flooded back into his mind, spoiling that brief illusion of clarity, and he was left intensely aware that this was the first time Hawke was seeing this side of him since that first night he’d come to the estate.

No, _Anders_ had come to the estate, with Justice just along for the ride, that would be how Hawke saw it, wouldn’t it? With that awful joke about threesomes—he’d tried so many times to explain how it worked, this jumble of personalities in his head, it wasn’t like that; but how could he expect Hawke to understand the line between Anders and Justice when he couldn’t pin it down himself?

But Hawke was used to seeing him in this form, at least, and under far worse circumstances than this. Hawke knew what he was.

( _We’ll kill them all, I promise,_ Hawke had said, standing at his side, a lifeline in the chaos.)

But _had_ that situation been worse than this one for Hawke? Anders had terrified himself then, but Hawke, he'd just kept holding onto all that ridiculous, misplaced faith in him. Whereas for a mage like Hawke to enter the Fade in this manner, surrounded by demons—not himself, he didn’t mean himself, of course he wasn’t a—but he wasn't quite the Anders that Hawke was used to relying on, either, was he?

“You look different,” Hawke said at last, breaking into his spiraling thoughts.

That was a delicate way of putting it. “I am Justice. Anders has told you of me.”

It was that simple and that straightforward and yet Hawke plainly did not understand, and it was a poor excuse for an explanation. But he couldn’t pretend to behave like the version of himself that Hawke knew and cared for—not now, here, with the song of the Fade in his head, drawing Justice's memories to the surface—no more than he could have pretended to be Kristoff for Aura, and it would have been wrong to try. There was no reason to make that difficult for Hawke; he might be all right with Anders glowing in his bed, but Hawke didn’t need to try to untangle the mess that was their mind, not right now. It would just be a distraction from the matter at hand.

Why was Hawke looking so bemused?

Anders put aside his doubts, and Justice turned away abruptly, striding forward after Merrill and Aveline. “Come,” he said to Hawke. “I sense Feynriel’s mind straining. We will not have much time.”

* * *

Despite this warning, the others seemed exasperatingly determined to waste time, stopping to poke at every twist and trick of the Fade that crossed their path. At the moment, Hawke was busily helping Merrill shift a series of barrels into new patterns. Justice stood impatiently in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, and Hawke kept shooting him these odd little looks, a smile playing around his lips. He didn’t know what to make of that.

 _If they keep this up much longer, the barrels are going to start getting annoyed,_ he thought.

He paused a moment to marvel at the absurdity of his own thought, then wondered why he thought it was absurd, then decided to stop questioning it.

Not that he was doing a great job of keeping focused himself, he had to admit. They’d come across a lute in the last room, and his fingers had strayed over the strings, wondering if he could recreate the song that the Fade sang in his head, play it so that Hawke could hear. A futile wish.

But with this time to think, he’d started to wonder what had happened to that fury of Vengeance that he’d been bracing for. Its absence was a relief, of course, an unbelievable relief; for so long he’d been worried that he’d somehow corrupted Justice—himself, _myself_ , _me-but-not-me_ —

But he was feeling more Justice and less Anders with every moment he spent in the Fade, and while that realization sent his mind into strange, panicked little loops, still there was no sign of Vengeance. And if the corruption of Justice wasn’t the source of that blind fury, that loss of control—what was?

“Anders—sorry, Justice? You holding up okay?”

Hawke once again distracted him from his unsettling train of thought, having apparently abandoned Merrill’s efforts with the barrels for the moment.

“This is no time to speak,” he said quickly. “Come, let us act while we still can.” Feynriel wouldn’t hold out forever.

“It won’t be much longer.” Hawke looked over to Merrill. “I think. She’ll probably sort this out faster without me ‘helping’, anyway.” And he sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor, apparently content to wait. “Reminds me of a puzzle Carver played with as a kid. Sliding little tiles around a square, you know the kind? I wound up breaking it. Just took the tiles out, put them back the way I wanted them. Carver wasn’t too happy with me.” He stretched, settled back against the wall. “Feynriel must like those same kinds of games, right? Think this will help?”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Justice. The barrels were spirits playing around with something they’d liked in Feynriel’s memories, that was clear enough—but whether solving the puzzle in a dream would make the dreamer himself feel more at ease—

It wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe this delay wasn’t a complete waste of time after all. He inclined his head, grudgingly, and Hawke grinned up at him.

“You’re so easy to read like this,” Hawke said.

He had absolutely no idea what to make of that.

* * *

When they encountered a demon, Hawke rejected its offer out of hand. Justice knew there was no reason to relax, not when there would be more waiting for them up ahead, and there was certainly no reason he should feel a sense of possessive pride when watching Hawke strike the sloth demon down—but he did nonetheless. He hadn't expected Hawke to do otherwise, not really; Hawke was a good man—but even the Warden-Commander had been swayed by a demon’s lies. That was how Justice had met Anders to begin with. Not the most auspicious of beginnings. Perhaps they should have taken that as a sign.

His memories of that first meeting were a jumble. He’d try to think of how he’d seen Anders then, a man who’d refused to help him free the villagers from their torment, and instead he’d find himself remembering standing inside the Baroness’s gates at the Warden-Commander’s side, trying to laugh off his deep-seated wariness of angry mobs and self-righteous men in heavy armor.

He generally avoided thinking too hard about those moments when their memories overlapped. It could be disorienting. But that was the last memory he had of the Fade—or it had been, until now.

The courtyard where they’d encountered the sloth demon was filled with floating green lights, little pieces of the Fade not conscious enough to feel anything more complex than curiosity. Hawke had turned his face up to watch them, held up his hand as if hoping one would land on it.

If Hawke had met him in the Fade back then, before Anders, before they'd merged—how would he have seen Justice?

And how would he have felt about Hawke?

One of the lights landed on the tip of Justice’s nose—a cool, metallic sensation, like spilling a drop of lyrium. He brushed it away and gathered himself, looking to the door behind which more demons were surely waiting. He had to stop letting himself get distracted. “Let us do this quickly,” he said. “I have no wish to stay here.”

“Really? You don’t miss this? I—” But Hawke looked at Justice and broke off. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

Hawke left the floating lights alone, lowering his arm. His fingers came to rest along the nape of Justice’s neck, soothing, just the same gesture he used in the physical world, when Justice was being Anders. And then he dropped his hand to his side and nodded. “All right. Let’s go fight some injustice and get you back home.” And he started for the door.

There was no point in wondering about what-ifs, Justice supposed. As he followed, he still felt the warmth of Hawke's skin standing out against the coolness of the Fade, grounding him.


End file.
